


Counting Salt

by shipcat



Series: Naruto Event Work [6]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Attempted assassination, Canon-Compliant Violence (Graphic), Dark Humor, Gen, M/M, happy endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-05-31 11:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipcat/pseuds/shipcat
Summary: Stories of a long lost king and his artist.(SasoThird drabble and one shot collection).Latest One Shot:The second attempt on his life is a joke.It is also sheer beauty—a plate of raw fish, sliced into paper-thin, petal-like shapes, arranged into the shape of a lotus, and placed onto a bed of rice. The pale flesh shines in the candlelight, golden sauce glimmering; a spray of pink Iwan salt glittering around the edges.Aside the plate sits a shallow bowl of soy sauce, two bone chopsticks laying across its rim. Carved. Polished.Waiting.The Third Kazekage inhales the sweet savory aroma of the soy sauce. In the low light of the dining room, the Iwan salt shines like gems——a reluctant concession to the inner romantic of a war lord.





	1. Table of Contents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be edited as more chapters are added.

1\. Table of Contents _(you are here)_

2\. [Counting Salt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425361/chapters/46230022)

 **Summary:** After a devastating battle with two witches nearly destroys his favorite golem, Sasori resorts to drastic measures to save it.

 **Warnings:** Canon-Compliant Violence (Graphic), Sasori is a bastard, as fae folk sometimes are, Third is a golem, happy ending.

 **Note:** Iron burns certain magical creatures.

 **Note 2:** Golems are, essentially, statues brought to life, typically made from earth. Sasori’s are made of wood.

Posted for Naruto Magic Week. For @eggyulks.

❤️

3\. [Obedience](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425361/chapters/48992945)

 **Summary** : On an auspicious night, Sasori tries to kill the Third Kazekage - who, currently, is in the middle of a very personal activity, and no, he’s not stopping. 

**Warnings:** Attempted assassination, mature rating, edgeplay, very loosely described masturbation.

 **Inbox Prompt:** “Let me die.”

 **For:** @scorpling.

❤️

4\. [The Princess is In Another Castle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425361/chapters/49200557)

 **Summary:** The Third Lord of the Desert Wastes has been kidnapped by a dragon. The last thing he wants is freedom.

 **Warnings:** Implied nudity, T rating.

 **Inbox Prompt:** Liberosis.

 **For:** [@somnificsheep](https://tmblr.co/m0PQSDrDSfF-yknKk6Dfi3Q).

❤️

5\. [Yes, Sire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425361/chapters/50162360)

 **Summary:** Of course Sasori had to serve the only vampire in the world who was vain and crazy enough to take his familiar sun bathing. These are the things we do for immortality.

 **Warnings:** Dumb vampire lords and their familiars. 

**Inbox Prompt:** “I didn’t ask for this!”

 **For:** Anonymous

❤️

5\. Submission

 **Summary:** The Third Kazekage is nearly poisoned by a guest chef, but hey - at least the guy is cute.

 **Warnings:** Attempted assassination, eccentric Third Kazekage, enemies to lovers, Tsun!Sasori

 **Event Prompt:** "The Moment Love Hits"

**For:** [Naruto Rare Pair Week](http://narutorarepairweek.tumblr.com/)

[Sequel to Obedience](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425361/chapters/48992945). Can be read separately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re interested in something in particular, I take requests ;)


	2. Table of Contents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a devastating battle with two witches nearly destroys his favorite golem, Sasori resorts to drastic measures to save it.
> 
> ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆
> 
>   
> _When his golem bleeds, Sasori burns. That is what fae do._
> 
> _A larger issue is this—the way his hands bubble when he pulls the dastardly thing from wreckage, hissing in time with his flesh. Its wooden limbs rattle and click as he does so, tsking at what isn’t there The magic-rusted blades. A leg missing—he runs a precautionary finger over the core. Pauses._
> 
> _His frown draws into a scowl, pearly canines digging into his lip. It is... Sasori doesn’t know the mortal word. Troubling, he supposes, gingerly setting the golem down._
> 
> _Unhelpful. Annoying._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [EggYulks](https://eggyulks.tumblr.com), I hope you like it X3

When his golem bleeds, Sasori burns. That is what fae do.

A larger issue is this—the way his hands bubble when he pulls the dastardly thing from the wreckage, hissing in time with his flesh. Its wooden limbs rattle and click as he does so, tsking at what isn’t there The magic-rusted blades. A leg missing—he runs a precautionary finger over the core. Pauses.

His frown draws into a scowl, pearly canines digging into his lip. It is... Sasori doesn’t know the mortal word. Troubling, he supposes, gingerly setting the golem down.

Unhelpful. Annoying.

Iron sizzles over his arms, skin peeling away, as Sasori stands up. His eyes skim the ground, counting all three hundred and seventy-five grains of salt scattered over the fairy hill, each a blister in his foot and a thorn in his side. He takes it as he takes most things—in stride—gathering the splinters of the living forest into a tight circle around his golem, then vines and pebbles and so forth. The dirt drips with the dew of his heel, crystalline at first, then blooming bright pink.

He quickens, then. His brows narrow, counting. Four hundred seventeen more salt crystals sparkling over scarred earth; five hundred forty, forty-one, rendering the moss infertile. Seven hundred ninety-five, ninety-six, sparkling over his haven, ruined.

“Witches,” he spits, yanking at a branch.

The tree tugs back.

“Give me this damn branch or so help me I will hex you,” he hisses. “Would you like to be human?”

It tilts its bough thoughtfully.

“I will skin you, sew your pelt into a coat, and wear it.” Sasori tugs harder.

Abruptly, the tree releases its limb, the red-haired fae stumbling to dodge the smack to his face.

_“Petulant splinter.”_ Sasori sneers. Its bough shakes in laughter.

Wishing there was more time to gloat, he snaps off the branch and makes his way back to the golem, throwing a curse over his shoulder on a whim. He is NOT in the mood to be kind. Certainly not after getting backtalked by a bratty twig. Even less with this prized specimen in the state that it is in—crumpled in the middle of a ring made complete with a final ingredient: The bleeding arm of a former whispering tree.

It now wails behind him, a man with black vines clinging to his head, wrenching him down. His forehead smashes into the cracked mud, and he whimpers, moaning, weeping.

Sasori has no pity. “Maybe next time, you’ll have more sympathy.” He tilts his head back cruelly, before dropping his gaze to the golem.

Then—in a blink—the battlefield disappears. Sasori opens his eyes to a world of white shadows. He is not surprised to see Seelie grass wilt where his golem bleeds, as fae things tend to do. A shirt is laid over this outline of bubbling earth. On this altar cloth, Sasori kneels, knees raw, heart moreso. His fingers chip and crack as he pieces together the parts of his prized golem, throat and eyes stinging. Itching. Burning.

He coughs. Of course, iron. _Fucking_ iron.

“Of all the metals in all the worlds, you _had_ to have an affinity for that. Iron.” Heaving a long-suffering sigh, he stands up, disappearing into the iridescent woods. “You could’ve had a silver core. Lava, even. A heart forged from stars. But no, iron. Why?”

A head of fiery hair pops out of the forest, framing an ever youthful face.

“Because you torment me.” Sasori bites. Then he dives back into the foliage, muttering complaints with very little heat to them.

In a few short minutes the fae reemerges, arms overflowing with leaves the size of a man. He bows at the altar of that wooden body, weary fingers tracing its shoulder, or, more particularly, the **III** signifying the golem, _Third._

“Do you know what I’ve been through today?” Sasori gripes again.

Its face stares at him, lips carved up, gold fading from its eyes.

“...of course you do.” A tormentor would keep track of such things. And, besides, Third had gone through them too.

Shattered limbs. Cracked enamel. A broken, useless core, leaking the Seelie equivalent of battery acid all over the damn place.

A wave of exhaustion washes through him.

“You better appreciate this,” Sasori tells Third, before beginning his next task: Carefully stuffing the leaking cavity with leaves, soaking up the residual blood as quickly as it chars his wrists.

In another life, he would be a surgeon, or perhaps a doctor. He has seen it in the reflections of whispering brooks; his Third is a patient, golden and fading under bright, white cloaks and shimmering disks held to measure hearts. They are not quite the scales of Anubis, but are enough to garner a pulse he can record.

A few moments more and he is an artist, dolefully painting feyfolk, gods and magic long forgotten. He is paid to restored a portrait of his golem; a cursed, old thing from an old, cursed, land. By the time he is done, his fingers are no longer flesh but wood, splintering onto the floor. Cursed, indeed.

A minute more, he is a mechanic, bringing a cyborg to life. Then a warrior serving his general. Then dead. His ghost haunts a corpse.

It is odd how these things work. How these lives repeat, over and over again, in dizzying circles, on which only a few points remain constant: His name is Sasori, his parents die young, and he falls in love with something he really should avoid.

Like a golem with a heart of iron.

Sasori exhales, gripping his knees.

This will be it. The last hurrah. A final dance around the World Fire, howling as cinders fly at their faces. One he won’t let end.

Using a leaf as protection, he cautiously lifts the iron core up and away, setting it at a safe distance. The excess metal is soon to follow, replaced by a cushion of foliage, burnt with earth-retardant sigils. They’d be enough to hold back the iron. At least for the time being.

Shrapnel is the rest to rise, the size of a small knife. Unsteady in his hands. He shouldn’t be shaking. But he is. He is. White-knuckled and raw, trembling through to the bone, shivering down to the marrow, as the edge turns on him, sharpened by magic.

A rivulet runs red down his chest. Then two, then three, dipping into the hollow of his abdomen. Eyes squeezing shut, sternum cracking. Whimpers sting the inside of his cheek. It’s not until he’s pushed through, that he wonders who is crying.

That person is him.

Him, counting each salt crystal in each tear. Him, cursing as he rips a pulsing mass out himself. Him, pressing his black and rotten heart into the throne of leaves, gasping as his legs fail him. Then his sight, blackening from the edges in, shoulder hitting the blood-soaked ground. A final gasp, just for show.

And all was quiet, after that.

**☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ ** ** **｡ﾟ****.*･｡ﾟ **☆******

There comes a time in every golem’s existence that he must do his own repairs. Fingers click. Gears recalibrate, bark skin shifts. Marble gold eyes flicker open and close, spinning left and right, before settling for sight.

Testing, testing, testing—a leg missing. A bit of a draft in his lower regions. Oh. _Oh._

He laughs, rattling his chest. Yes. Sasori would not be pleased, oh no. Best to start appeasing him now.

“D-e-ar?” he calls out, blinking as his voice comes out—small. Odd. “Lo-ve? D-rling.”

Only the sky replies, orange and suspended with pixie dust. The canopy whispers something he cannot hear, shapes dancing over deep veins. They are a common sight in the Seeley realms, particularly on their mound of earth, glittering with bright blue spider silk. Third smiles at the many eyes blinking down at him; curious mortals peeping into fairy hills, not knowing the fairy hills peek back.

In between one stem and root, he spots that pink-haired witch with little wicked fists, sobbing over her master.

“Oh, my sc-rp-ion.” He sighs, pleased. The fool who raised a changeling, felled by her own pride. “Are you s-e-eing this? D-ear—“ Sasori would love this—wherever he is. The fae, who normally leaps at his beck and call, remains silent.

His chuckles peter away into a frown.

Odder.

But irrelevant. Irrelevant. Irrelevant. His ruby will return soon enough, Third tells himself, reclining on his side. He runs a finger over his face, inwardly grimacing at the webbing cracks. Yet Sasori will fix him soon enough, he reasons.

All he has to do is wait.

Wait.

… wait ...

Glassy eyes stare at him.

Dull. Lifeless.

“...a-h.”

Patches of dark, boiled skin splash all over his body, most prominently on his hands. There, shock of white peer out through his joints, gnarled knuckles curled defensively over his front, yanked apart by the golem. Red spills down Sasori’s collar, stark against the milken flesh that once parted so obediently for him, now terse and resistant. Bloody thumbs slip over small shoulders, sizzling. The stench of burning flesh slaps Third across the face.

His heart seizes.

Gingerly, tenderly, Third lets his fairy go, knuckles dragging along the soil. Joints twitch. Rivets squirm with spindles and barbs. Things he never said. Things he never heard.

”D-rling…” he keens. Again, no answer. He claws at the earth, for purchase. For lack of nothing to do. No one to hold.

The cons of having an iron soul, Third supposes, tilting his face skyward. “Be-utiful as you a-re, dear,” he murmurs, “the s-ght of you draped over grass, wear-ing my burns—is not something I’d l-ke to see.”

It’s sickening. It hurts. He cannot look. Not a peek.

Above, branches tremble in the wake of things unseen. The golem closes his eyes, forlorn, and moans.

“Why mu-st you be so dr-matic?”

“Because I like to torment you.”

Salvation arrives with a dry voice, jerking his heart up and his head down. Sasori rests on his fairy hill, wound stretching obscenely over his ribs. It heaves, pink and glossy around the edges. Like little gumdrops. Sweet and inviting.

Third draws closer. “You d-o. You d-o. You tear me to pieces.”

“You like it,” Sasori accuses, as his golem pins him down. Elbows by his sides, careful not to touch.

Licking his lips, the golem admits, “Tr-ue,” taking Sasori’s mouth in his.

Some people are into that. Some things, too. 

The fae pushes up into the kiss, bumping noses. A chip of plaster flutters from Third’s cheek, onto Sasori, ash. Each tug, each pull, each slip of the tongue, pours them deeper into each other. Parting to let Sasori breathe, and Third ring out in laughter. “I c-n’t hold you.”  
  
“I know that,” Sasori replies, hair splayed around him in an artful red halo. For all the world, he looks like he had never been kissed. Never died.

“I ne-ed a new core,” the golem emphasizes.

“I know.” Sasori lifts his arm, combing it through his golem’s bun. Locks of inky hair drape over the fae, around his face like a curtain. “I made you. I can unmake you. I’ll fix you.” He pauses. Bronze, aristocratic features hover above him, carved perfectly and proportionally; farther now, closer later.

“There is no iron here,” Sasori starts again, We’ll have to—” Third kisses him. “—go back to the human, mm—” Again. “—world.” 

“I’ll m-ke a r-ing,” the golem agrees. Sasori peeks down at his leg. “Ple-ase. L-t me h-ndle it, de-ar one.” He pecks the tip of Sasori’s nose. His cheek. The arch of his cupid bow, nipping. “Tr-st me.”

Sasori purses his lips. Third nudges them open once more, teeth clicking together. Heart or not, he feels right. _They_ feel right. 

Here, in this tight space, no light can pass through. The World Fire flickers; shrinking into tight, bright gold embers. Two bodies, one kiss, one soul.

Soon, they're all that remains. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I was planning a series of stories where one character transforms into a thing and vice-versa, like Ovid's Metamorphosis. But I ended up writing this, and am quite satisfied with how it turned out. What do you think?
> 
> Kudos or comment below, or catch me on Tumblr [@ThatShipCat](https://thatshipcat.tumblr.com).


	3. Obedience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On an auspicious night, Sasori tries to kill the Third Kazekage - who, currently, is in the middle of a very personal activity, and no, he’s not stopping.
> 
> ❤️
> 
> __
> 
> _“I am going to die soon.”_
> 
> _This is what runs through the mind of the Third Kazekage that morning. He blinks slowly, owlishly, staring down the curve of his fork towards his eggs, sliced in two. Yolk oozes over the porcelain of his plate, simmering in a thick red sauce, rife with exotic herbs and spices. A fish head floats along the curry, eye removed in favor of a golden cherry tomato carved into a rose. The same color as his._  
>    
> _Stomach twisting, he pushes away his breakfast, and sends for his assistant._  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Attempted assassination, mature rating, edgeplay, vague masturbation, background illness.
> 
> Inbox Prompt: “Let me die.” For: @scorpling.

_I am going to die soon._

This is what runs through the mind of the Third Kazekage that morning. He blinks slowly, owlishly, staring down the curve of his fork towards his eggs, sliced in two. Yolk oozes over the porcelain of his plate, simmering in a thick red sauce, rife with exotic herbs and spices. A fish head floats along the curry, eye removed in favor of a golden cherry tomato carved into a rose. The same color as his.

Stomach twisting, he pushes away his breakfast, and sends for his assistant.

That particular day is one of the rarer ones, in that the Third refuses to leave his home—“Ill portents, stars,” he wrote the council. As if that explained anything. “I’ll work from home.”

It’s more relaxing than working, less relaxing and more—lounging on the edge of his baths, front pressed into the cool tile, sun at his shoulders. The afternoon is spent in the study, where the heat was not so overbearing, pouring over research. This place, in particular, was distinguished for its distinct lack of bad luck: no black cats, no ladders, no mirrors of any sort; no salt, no grim dogs, and certainly no clocks of any kind. 

Neither is there red. Perhaps it is a fortuitous color, in Kiri, or Konoha. 

In Suna, it is another bad omen.

The Third Kazekage is indeed a rational man. It is because he was so rational that he did not take any chances. Not today, not ever, least of not in times like these.

For example—red. The Third observes such, makes a quick note, and returns to morbidity rates in males aged thirty and above. Light reading, considering he can be brushing up on architectural styles of tombs from the late feudal period. It isn’t long until he reached its end. 

“On second thought,” he says. “An excellent idea.”

He picks through the library catalogue, gathering several tomes on memorial design and setting them close. Morbid words unfold in front of him. The resting places of Great War Lords. Old gods. Golden cradles and urns preserving softer, squishier things, to ensure his well-being in this life and the next. 

It sounded peaceful.

It sounded frightening. 

Jumping, he realizes that, no. He isn’t alone. There are footsteps, near silent. The shelves suddenly have eyes. Brown, dull, and intent.

“Company?” Fine. The Third crosses his legs, lounging on his pillow. Yes, he can do with some companionship. No, he will not rush things.

Sasori will come out when he’s good and ready.

## ♡ . ♡ . ♡

Good and ready did not arrive in an hour, two, or three. Nor in six or seven, nor at dinner, nor when the servant slips off his robes and undoes his topknot, leaving the Kazekage to stretch over cotton sheets, dark hair and bare skin. He inhales deeply, pressing a hand to his chest. Only a fool would ignore its rattling.

Breathe in, breathe out. Push past the lumps in his throat. Swallow. Breathe. 

It’s when the window cracks that his heart begins to settle, his mind to wonder; and, sufficiently distracted, his hand begins to wander under. Outside, the wind tosses and turns, and his sheets are just as restless, rolling back, side, forward, around, until his head is at the foot of the mattress, and his thighs are raised, circling slowly.

Sand shifts against heavy curtains; a whimper creeps past his lips. Gold eyes snap open as metal kisses his throat.

Sasori looms above, rightside up where he is upside down. Bright and wild red curls out of his face veil, lovely like rubies—Third can only imagine what is hidden underneath. This soldier had stuck to old, shadowy ways, even when others gladly choose to walk in the sun. In spite of this, there are rumors that Sasori is beautiful. 

Trapped under his killer, Third can’t help but agree. 

“Go on then,” the Kazekage beckons, twisting his wrist. “I’ve, ah, had a lovely day. A good life.” More than he deserves, more than he warrants. “Best to end it on a high note, don’t you think?” 

Yet blade freezes. Sasori blinks behind his veil, Third tightens the grip around himself, then exhales. The sheets do nothing to hide his pride, dripping, sweat beading along tan skin. Heat overtakes him, tossing his hair, metal biting. 

“It doesn’t work that way,” Sasori interrupts. “You die because I say so.”

Third opens his mouth to retort. The sword bites back his words.

“You should be scared,” Sasori says. “Livid.” 

“Ah,” the Kazekage sounds, “…well, that won’t alter matters—”

“—it might,” the puppeteer argues.

He continues. “If you really intend to kill me—and the stars suggest you are—”

“Shut up.” Sasori hisses. The blade twitches at his Kazekage’s neck; shaken. “I am going to kill a great leader. The emperor of the sands. A force of nature. An aspirant god.”

“A symbol.”

“A _masterpiece_.” 

“I—ah, somehow doubt that.”

Sasori scoffs at him. “You don’t know art.”

“Mm, I don’t,” Third agrees. His lashes flutter, jaw dropping into a round ‘O’. 

“You disgust me.”

“I must, hn, concur,” he agrees again, jerking at the answering scowl, “—ah, hah—oh, I’m rotten, horrid, dreadful, I pale before you, mm, drooling and rutting like a common beast for beauty.” 

A beat.

He arches up, hips slipping out of sheets, arm moving faster. 

Sasori’s eyes widen in disbelief. “You’re getting off on this,” he realizes.

Third only moans in response.

It was clear by now that Sasori did not want a simple kill, but a challenge. Why that was, the Kazekage didn’t know, and he would not pretend to. Rather, he’d give his killer the exact opposite, hoping that wanton submission would be enough to stay the blade from his throat.

If not, then he’d have a happy ending. Something, at least, to take the edge off.

“Just, let me die,” he utters, voice cracking. Sasori’s face is lost in the darkness. “Let me die,” he repeats. “Let me.” 

“I said shut up.” 

His mouth clicks shut, cutting off a whimper, a sigh, an “ahhh!”

White flashes behind his eyelids. Absently, he realizes that his stomach is wet, heaving for air that won’t come. His strokes slow, then stop. Inky bangs lay flat on his brow, blue where the light hits, black where it doesn’t.

His soldier is still.

The sword is gone.

“Did you have, ah,” the Kazekage coughs, fingers splayed across his chest. “A change of heart?”

“No.” Sasori steps away from Third’s prone body. 

“Curious,” the man dazedly comments. 

“One day, you’ll be so content that death is the last thing you’ll wish.” He irritatedly crosses his arms. “Then, I’ll kill you.”

“Is that so?” A chapped smirk teases his lips. “How very industrious. Then, I’d expect nothing less of my best soldier.” The redhead tenses. “Though—,”

“—though what?” Sasori snaps. “And I’m _not_ yours.”

“If anyone can make me happy, it’s you,” Third confesses, watching his would-be killer. “So merciful, so wonderful, not to mention talented—” he lays the flattery on thick.

“Stop that,” a red Sasori orders, stalking off. “I need to think, just - don’t.”

Once more, Third smiles, teeth bright in the night,

…and obeys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahah, what do you think? I really love it when someone gets one up on Sasori XD


	4. The Princess is in Another Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Third Lord of the Desert Wastes has been kidnapped by a dragon. The last thing he wants is freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inbox Request for: @somnificsheep.
> 
> Prompt: Liberosis. The desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life, to stop glancing behind you every few steps, afraid that someone will snatch it from you before you reach the end zone—rather to hold your life loosely and playfully, like a volleyball, keeping it in the air, with only quick fleeting interventions, bouncing freely in the hands of trusted friends, always in play.
> 
> Warnings: Implied nudity, T rating.

He holds his forearms behind him, thumb on radial, index on wrist, looking over the scorched courtyard beneath his tower. A fingernail presses into his pulse; it beats solidly. Steadily.

A reptilian face pokes over the window edge, honeyed eyes blinking sleepily. 

“Your hair is getting long,” it comments, claws skittering over the stone floor. A young man emerges in its place, red hair dripping with gold and pearls. Bored, he wraps a wide bony tail around his bare midriff, stinger glinting up at the Lord.

“So it seems,” Third replies, hardly flinching at the intrusion.

The young-looking dragon blankly observes his collection, nearly overtaken with rich silks, fine jade, and piles upon piles of wood carved into the shapes of people. In the corner, a large futon waits to be made, covered in puzzles and books. To the left, a rock garden, swirling with fine white sand. To the right, A bonsai tree, grasping blindly for the sun, trickling meekly through the rafters. 

Nothing he hasn’t seen before. Boring. Rather, he turns his attention to waves of ink-blue braids, coiled over wide shoulders and down a conceited spine. A pale finger lifts up one of the locks, teasing the well-trimmed edges, appraising. In the dim of the tower, it gleams like sapphires. 

“Is that a problem?” The Lord makes sure to keep his voice lilted. His weaknesses hidden. His chin up. “I’d loathe to displease my guardian.”

Said ‘guardian’ only purses his lips. “I am a dragon,” he starts, voice raised. Hooked nails click on the floor as he circles slowly. 

“I am no mere guardian, I am—” 

“—a beast, a warden, a monster. The infamous wyrm of the Red Sand.” Third smiles deliberately, mouth tense with years-long stress of holding the same pleasantries. “Sasori.”

“Fool.”

“Of course.” Third only smiles wider. “You said so, not I.”

Rolling his eyes, the dragon yanks on the Lord’s robes, forcing him to kneel. He takes a bunch of flowers out from behind his back, fiddling with the stems.

“Aren’t you cold?” Third asks, peeking over his shoulder. 

Sasori grasps his jaw and turns him forward. “Stay still,” he orders, weaving dandelions into braids, and braids into the Lord’s mane. His hands smolder where they touch, Third notes, bowing his head to give the dragon access to his neck. No fear. No worry. No anxiety. 

Only pride. 

Pride, radiating from his crown, out; pride running down the line of his spine, taut; pride, seared into his kneecaps, and pressed into the oriental rug. There is even pride in the white of his teeth as he turns to see.

Sasori forcefully corrects him, pinching his ear. “Stop that.” A claw pokes Third in the cheek.

“You need clothes, darling.”

“Not your darling.”

“You’ll catch a cold, dear.”

“Not your dear.”

“Denial, while counterproductive, is a lovely look on you.” Third glances at him. “A fool might think you’re doing it on purpose.”

Sasori snorts. “That ‘fool’ would be wrong,” he says, releasing his captive with a final flick. He takes a second to admire his work, fist curled thoughtfully under his chin, making one or two adjustments.

“I know better than to ask if you like what you see,” Third comments, pulling a lock of hair over his chest. A dandelion beams up at him. 

A gust blows past, tossing his robes into disarray, and fragrant spices onto the wind.

When the Lord lifts his gaze back to the courtyard, Sasori is gone. Instead, a bowl of curry greets him by the windowsill, large chunks of meat swimming with reds, oranges and gold. His mouth waters.

A long time ago, before he had been stolen for this dragon’s collection, he was served with platters of lamb and lizard, smothered with sauce and piled on jeweled rice. At his side an attendant sat, veiled and slender, dutifully rolling each bite into balls, nibbling on the same, before placing them on his waiting tongue. They observed each morsel with an air of great importance, sampling aromas and comparing grain textures before sending plates back to the open fire pit.

Eat, fight, sleep. Eat, fight, sleep. Again. Day in, day out, keeping a white-knuckled grip on the katana at his hip. Always looking over his shoulders; always listening for treasonous whispers; always sighing in relief when their meals arrived, and his taste tester with them. 

This was a tedious, stressful job, to be sure. But his attendant never faltered. Their pulse never quickened. Their appearance immaculate. Their nails had shone in the firelight, dyed yellow with turmeric, fingers twirling with henna mandalas, icy where his dragon’s were hot. 

Where his attendant had never met his gaze, Sasori made a point of avoiding the same, though part of him suspected that was rooted more in rudeness than modesty. 

It was almost funny, how different they acted, one and the same though they were.

Taking a seat at the windowsill, Third tilts his head curiously.

“Another thief.” The Lord hums, raising the curry bowl to his lips. From this distance, their intruder looks as small as an ant. Under the dragon’s foot, he might as well be.

It’s only a matter of time. ~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt was difficult because although the definition was clear, the feeling of Liberosis is a bit abstract to me, so I tried to portray it through descriptions and tone rather than explicitly “the want to be free”
> 
> Also, I really like dragon Sasori... any creature!Sasori, frankly... 
> 
> What do you think? What beast / monster most suits him? What about the Third?
> 
> ~~if I like it, I might incorporate into a drabble down the line~~


	5. Yes, Sire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course Sasori had to serve the only vampire in the world who was vain and crazy enough to take his familiar sun bathing. 
> 
> These are the things we do for immortality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I didn’t ASK for this!” for SasoThird
> 
> For: Anonymous
> 
> This has been sitting in my inbox forever because the prompt suggests angst and I haven’t been up to it? But then Third decided to be a drama queen and HERE WE ARE -
> 
> \- shameless, domestic, vampire-themed, fluff.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he protests, shrinking away from Sasori.

“Didn’t you?” the redhead retorts, squeezing zinc-oxide lotion onto his palm. “The third oldest vampire, sired by Tepes himself, lord of the desert hordes, didn’t ask to be turned?” he sarcastically intones, rubbing it in the Lord’s face. “Then I should leave you to the day, let you turn to ash.” The hunters would be happy, that is certain.

“That’s not what I meant,” Third sighs, rubbing his face. Reluctantly, he settles down, allowing the familiar to loosen his cravat. “The elixir. The worrying.” The bubbles in his chest when Sasori hovers nearby. Possible crackling in his lungs. He waves a hand uselessly. “While I can appreciate that the task I’ve asked of you is rather, mm, arduous—”

“Implying I’m incapable.”

“If so, you’re implying that your master is blind, deaf and dumb. And you wouldn’t,” Third finishes. 

Sasori wrinkles his nose as an SPF’d thumb brushed his bangs. 

“My dear scorpion?” the vampire asks, answering, Never.”

His voice is lilting in soft, welcoming ways, seeping into this crypt he mournfully calls tomb. Every ear, each grain of sand stands at attention, the dawn-touched tomb clinging onto each word; and in his presence the darkness shrinks away, shadows playing off the gold in his eyes, the bronze of his skin. How ironic it is, that this vampire chases off the night.

Of course it is a lie.

Sasori shakes away the thrall. “No, I wouldn’t,” he firmly answers, returning to his previous task. His fingers deftly fasten punch and fasten buttons, cinch together robes, while Third smiles dazedly up at his familiar in a manner that is all too charming, all too pleasant.

His cheeks itch. They burn. Half of him is sure that he won’t be turned in his lifetime. The other half wonders if that is such a bad thing, as his lord huffs, fang brushing his bottom lip. (That half is put out of its misery.)

Third is polite enough not to mention he’s blushing. (Though, in less polite company, it is an invitation for fast food.)

“The elixir is dry?” he asks instead, brow creasing at his familiar’s continued silence.

“The ‘ _sunscreen’_ is dry,” Sasori corrects. 

“You mortals and your naming conventions. I swear,” he stands up, tutting. “How do you keep track of them all? I blink, and the dictionary has been rewritten—twice!” 

“That’s happens when one sleeps a half century,” Sasori tiredly replies, forcing himself to step away.

“Ah! Was it really that long?” Third laughs, gesturing to the door. Down the hall, a sun-bleached entrance beckons.

_Don’t walk towards the light._

Sasori reluctantly takes the lead and his master’s hand, guiding him when his night vision fails. 

“Blind as a bat,” Sasori dryly comments, palm wet with nerves. Third laughs. His pulse jumps. 

Half of him wonders when this drudgery will end. When he will be turned.

If he will be turned. If this ever ends, at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short ‘n sweet!
> 
> Let me know what you think?
> 
> Best,
> 
> _~Kitty_


	6. Submission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Third Kazekage is nearly poisoned by a guest chef, but hey - at least the guy is cute.
> 
> Excerpt:
> 
> _The second attempt on his life is a joke._
> 
> _It is also sheer beauty—a plate of raw fish, sliced into paper-thin, petal-like shapes, arranged into the shape of a lotus, and placed onto a bed of rice. The pale flesh shines in the candlelight, golden sauce swimming under its fins, while a spray of pink Iwan salt glitters around the edges. Aside the plate sits a shallow bowl of soy sauce, two carved-bone chopsticks laying across its rim._
> 
> _Polished._
> 
> _Waiting._
> 
> _The Third Kazekage inhales the sweet savory aroma of the soy sauce. In the low light of the dining room, the Iwan salt shines like gems—_
> 
> _—a reluctant concession to the inner romantic of a war lord._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Attempted assassination, eccentric Third Kazekage, enemies to lovers, Tsun!Sasori
> 
>  **Event Prompt:** "The Moment Love Hits"
> 
>  **For:** Naruto Rare Pair Week
> 
> [Sequel to Obedience](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425361/chapters/48992945). Can be read separately.

The second attempt on his life is a joke.

It is also sheer beauty—a plate of raw fish, sliced into paper-thin, petal-like shapes, arranged into the shape of a lotus, and placed onto a bed of rice. The pale flesh shines in the candlelight, golden sauce swimming under its fins, while a spray of pink Iwan salt glitters around the edges. Aside the plate sits a shallow bowl of soy sauce, two carved-bone chopsticks laying across its rim.

Polished. 

Waiting.

The Third Kazekage inhales the sweet savory aroma of the soy sauce. In the low light of the dining room, the Iwan salt shines like gems—

—a reluctant concession to the inner romantic of a war lord.

He chuckles, pulling an embroidered cloth out of his belt. A napkin.

The servant startles. “S-sir kazekage?”

“Please. Lord is fine.” He tucks the napkin into his collar. “What is your name?”

“Ah…“ He shifts his eyes. “G-gisei.”

Greasy hair. Rat nose. Ugh. 

“Gisei~!” Third claps. “Excellent, most excellent—thank you for your service. I’m not in need of any more assistance, thank you, so if you would please fetch me a bottle to pair with this,” he taps the plate with his knuckle, “you can go home for the night.”

“Sir—"

“Lord.”

“I—I couldn’t.” Gisei glances at the side. The kitchens.

“But you could. Easily.” Two fingers stroll across the edge of the low table, mimicking legs. They saunter past his chopsticks, sashaying around the marble. “—walk out the door.” Third kicks out a finger. “Just like that. Gone like dust.”

A pause, dramatically, to let the words sink in.

“After you get me those two glasses of wine, of course. Be a dear.” He waves Gisei off.

“Ah, uh, ha...” the servant stammers, green. “But, ah, abandoning my duties...” the rat nose wrinkles.

“Hmm.” Third folds his hands together, pretending to consider their options. “If you’re worried about leaving the kazekage unattended, then tell the chef I‘d like a word.”

“The—the chef.” That green face turns white. 

“The one and only.” The kazekage flashes a smirk. “Is that a problem?”

“...”

The kitchen door clicks shut.

_Yes dear. That’s right. Shoo now. Ta ta._

Pushing off against his chair, Third stands with a flourish, red robe swishing around his calves. That done, he paces around the dining room—marble, elegant, refined—making little preparations. Adjusting the record player, fixing his earrings, the gold beads braided into his hair, the necklace pointing towards his bare chest. As is befitting of a king.

He casually plucks out a nice white wine from a cooler—aged from a time when the walls weren’t so thick—wiping off the dust with a sleeve. Third smiles.

“Good year, good luck,” he murmurs, pouring out two glasses and pushing into the kitchen, where poor Gisei is being held at knifepoint.

“And good evening, Sasori,” the kazekage chirps, offering up a glass to the assassin in question. “Spare a moment?”

Sasori stares, eyes wide. Gisei gapes.

Third raises a round eyebrow at them.

“Go home,” he orders, not unkindly. “Sasori—you stay.” 

Sasori looks into his scarf, jaw clenched.

But he obeys.

“Hah.” Pivoting on his heel, Third turns back into the dining room, where a swell of violins greet him. He takes his time, strolling along the notes and three-four quarter rhythm, until at last he pulls out a chair. The two glasses and bottle trail behind, floating on a tray of iron sand. A plate of sweets follows after.

An angry click-click of heels storms after, composing something of a percussion, a drum, a bear, swelling up and swirling into a crescendo—the climax—the peak—

Sasori stands his ground, fists clenched.

“How did you know?” he demands.

Nonplussed, Third gestures at the seat. “Guests first.”

“No!” Sasori retorts, as cellos bow, then rise, “Answer me first!”

Third smiles. “...why don’t you sit?” he gestures again, this time at the fish platter. “You went through much so much effort making fuku for me. I know how difficult it is.”

The kazekage lifts his head. Their eyes meet.

Sasori’s heart stops.

“We should eat together,” Third suggests, “don’t you think?”

Fuku. Fortune. 

Fugu. Disability.

Depending on how it was prepared, it could bring a night of pleasure and tingling tongues, or the grave. For the rich, who played around with lives for the sake of entertainment, it was a delicacy. Pure and simple.

For shinobi of their status, it was certain death.

“Sit,” he insists, smile small but bright. Near blinding. 

Damn it.

Ears pink, Sasori dourly allows the kazekage to push in the chair under him. 

“There.” One hand on pats his shoulder, trailing down the armrest as Third circles around the table. He lowers himself elegantly, one leg over the other. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

The redhead exhales slowly through his nose, fighting urge to click his fingers against the chair—no. No.

Sasori inhales. “Of course not,” he coolly says, before swiping up a glass, tipping wine into his throat. Might as well enjoy it.

“Good.” Third follows suit, smirk lingering on the rim. “I’m glad.” 

He sips some more. “After all, you are Suna’s brightest. The scourge of Kiri—the terror of the desert—the shining blade of the Wind, swiftly darting along red dunes...”

“So says the calamity,” Sasori retorts.

“The calamity indeed.” Third’s mouth twitches in amusement. 

Sasori grits his teeth, taking another angry gulp of wine. Don’t show nerves. Don’t show weakness. Don’t show—

Their eyes meet again.

“Then, you can call me Third.”

Sasori nearly chokes on his drink.

“Calamity is a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?” He plucks an eclair from the table, scooting the tray of fish closer to Sasori, who soundly ignores it.

He continues. “If I recall correctly, the last time we met, you had high praises for me. What was it you called me...?” the kazekage tapped his finger against his chin. “A ‘force of nature,’ an ‘aspirant god’ ... oh, what else, what else... aha! A ‘masterpiece.’ Am I wrong?”

Sasori internally cringes. Gods damn him.

Outwardly, he remains blank. “So? That has nothing to do with it. You’re the kazekage, and you’ve earned several titles. That’s all.“

Third makes an amused noise. “If you say so,” he demurs, biting the eclair in half. Cream bursts out, melting on his tongue, light as a cloud. He lets out an appreciative moan, before lazily snapping up the rest of the eclair. Then, he reaches for another. “Why don’t you eat something? Hmm?”

Grey brown eyes drop to the fish. 

Fuku. 

Fugu.

His face twitches invisibly. “I’m not hungry.”

“Aren’t you?” The kazekage lifts his glass again, smirk cutting through the murky red wine.

Sasori looks away quickly, glaring through his bangs. “Already ate.”

“Did you now.” Third licks red off his lips, looking like a lion that ate the gazelle.

Sasori bristles.

“Did you snack a little while making this for me?” Now Third leans over, propping his chin on his knuckle, taking up space where Sasori shrinks away. “Are you not feeling well? Should I call for a medic?”

Sasori inhales slowly through his nose, gathering his composure, his thoughts, his courage.

“No need,” is what he finally says. Words light, throat tight. Finally, he reaches towards the neglected chopsticks, fingers curved like a stinger.

In greener lands, with much more water, lotuses sprung from the muck, stems springing up, through sand and mud, through water, through ice, to throw their petals towards the sun. Blooming beautifully, they were a symbol of enlightenment, and immortality; the latter of which Sasori had expressed interest in previously.

 _How did you know?_ Sasori had asked his kazekage.

His answer: _It’s obvious._ _Your flair, your passion for detail, your human puppetry. Anyone with a brain could figure it out._

Of course Third, with more than above average intelligence, had figured it out easily. Sasori had put so much care into this meal, it was plain as day—very nearly sweet. Or as sweet as a killing machine can be.

And, in a very peculiar way, he was touched.

A slice of fish dangles in the air, raw flesh quivering. Sasori opens his mouth—only for his chopsticks to be gently pulled away.

“Not that I doubt your ability to procure food, but fish is usually much better when it’s fresh. Given that Suna is in the middle of the desert, I’d hate to spoil you of the experience,” The fuku is pushed to the edge of the table, Third sliding his chair next to Sasori, “of freshly caught, ocean-to-table, seafood. Anyway, I’ve already spoiled my appetite. Eclair?”

A cream puff appears under Sasori’s nose.

“...um.”

“No?—more for me, then.” It vanishes, bit in two, then one, then none, Tenno savoring each chomp. This time, a hint of cream lingers at the corner of his lips.

Sasori snaps his eyes away.

But, inside, his small heart shuddered; it quivered, it thrummed, it stalled; then, loosened from its perch, it sank into his stomach, like a rock. Craggy and ill-tempered.

There, it began to boil.

“What are you going to do to me?” Sasori suddenly asks. His fists clench; pulse singing. “This is the second time that I’ve—"

“Paid me an unexpected visit?” Third interrupts. “Hmm, that’s right. I do enjoy your company. A gift is in order, I suppose...”

Sasori resists the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s not what I meant,” he drawls, swiping an eclair.

“Mmm.” Third watches him angrily cram it into his mouth. “You look like a bunny.”

“What?!” Sasori coughs, pounding on his chest. _Cough cough._

“A very cute bunny,” Third clarifies.

Not helping!

Sasori reaches for his wine, washing down the rest of the deadly pastry. Third waits calmly, before adding,

“How about rabbit-themed lingerie?”

Sasori spit-takes, slamming the glass down on the table.

“I mean, as a gift.”

“I know what you meant!”

“Then it’s settled.” Third plucks another eclair, setting it in Sasori’s hand. “I’ll have it shipped to your address. Are you still living with Lady Chiyo?”

“She moved out,” Sasori automatically replies. “But, you shouldn—"

“Even better,” Third interrupts. “Then, you can accept visits from suitors—"

He abruptly chokes on dessert, shoved into his mouth by an irate Sasori.

The kazekage blinks. Chews thoughtfully. Swallows. Smiles, teeth bright white against olive skin, fangs out and tongue pink. 

More and more, the prey becomes the predator.

“You have lovely hands,” Third comments, reaching for Sasori’s wrist. It is held in an easy grip between a thumb and index finger. Not too loose, not too tight. Just enough to emphasize how large he was... 

... and how small Sasori is.

 _“You...”_ a vein pulses.

“They’re artist hands,” Third adds, eyes crinkling. “Of course. Some of Suna’s finest hands. Featured in the rain festival, if I recall correctly...” 

That they did.

“What of it,” Sasori grumbles, trying to pull away.

Instead, Third tugs him closer—investigating each finger, one by one, massaging his knuckles, and turning it over to see the palm. He raises a small eyebrow. Interesting...

“What?” 

“Your lifeline,” Third says, tapping a crease in the middle. “It’s short. Just like you.”

Sasori doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

He opts not to say anything at all.

“Meaning,” Third continues, still smiling, “death will find you soon.”

It wasn’t unusual for the kazekage to receive visitors; wasn’t rare for those visitors to try to kill him; was not odd for those visitors to turn up dead, bellies pierced by their own weapon. 

And Sasori had tried to kill him—twice.

A shadow falls over his face.

Then Third chuckles, and the tension snaps away

“Ah, that was a bit morbid. Apologies.” he laughs again. “I find myself thinking about death quite often... being in my position, and all.”

He turns back to inspecting Sasori’s hand, hmm and hahing at the curves, the angles. _This one means you’re creative, that triangle there—that means you’re aggressive. Coupled with the shape of your palm around your thumb… your fate line, see, that’s linked with success… it means you’re ambitious, dangerously so. Yes, I see you’re a romantic here—the black widow type perhaps—_

“Enough!” Sasori rips himself away, chair screeching with desperation. “I’m done. We’re done here.”

“So soon?” He’s cute blushing like that. “Ah well, ah well, I’m sure there are more important things to do than me.”

D—

**_—do?!?_ **

“Haha. Humoring me, that is.” Third coughs awkwardly. “Phrasing aside, I understand you’re a busy man. If you don’t have time...” he waves his hand. “Then you can go. Dismissed.”

As always, when faced with affection, the scorpion runs away to hide. Under a rock, under a boulder, it didn’t matter. 

Except this time.

This time, Sasori stops. Two steps away from the door, he hesitates, eyes turned down. 

He’s armed to the teeth. Scrolls upon scrolls of puppets sit on his back, perched upon a summoning contract. Senbon tucked close to his forearms; razor wire strung under his scarf. Sharp in every way—except the curve of his shoulder, sloping downward…

It's almost, as if…

No. He can't be that easy to read.

“What if...” Sasori mumbles. “I...stay...”

“Pardon?” 

“I said,” Sasori repeats, face averted, “If I don’t... leave. If I stay, right here. What would you say?”

Third blinks slowly, lifting his glass of wine.

“I’d say... my night is free.” He sips idly, trying to contain himself. “For pleasant company.” 

Sasori shoots him a deadpan look. “Nothing pleasant about it,” he retorts, sitting down despite himself.

“Agree to disagree.” Third raises his glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Sasori parrots, clinking their glasses together.

Together they tip their heads back, finishing off the wine with a sigh. 

“Top me off,” Sasori demands.

Smiling, the kazekage obeys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like it ended up being very silly, despite the initial premise (Sasori tries to kill Third, again, and Third finds it amusing). But, I like making silly things! Because they make me laugh, and I hope it makes you laugh, too. If it did, please let me know below!
> 
> Kudos are great, emojis are fine for comments ♡
> 
> Support me (if you want!) [by reblogging here](https://thatshipcat.tumblr.com/post/617136859474264064/submission).
> 
> ... I kinda want to draw sasori in bunny lingerie now... 0-0;;;


End file.
